


drawing you out

by toomoon (jjjat3am)



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23580487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/toomoon
Summary: Keonhee is feeling off because of Seoho's injury. Geonhak helps.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Keonhee
Comments: 15
Kudos: 110





	drawing you out

**Author's Note:**

> Written after Seoho injured his ankle and couldn't finish the ASWE promotions and while looking at [this video](https://t.co/Jji9CQ2jsV) of the changed choreo.

The stage was bright and noisy, stage lights shining into Keonhee’s face, the music echoing in the too-empty studio. His awareness fractioned, focusing on everything at once - the feedback from his earpiece, the rationing of his breath o stabilize his vocals, forcing his body into movement that was both familiar and not, and the ever-present awareness of the emptiness in the corner of his eye, of something missing.

(They’d stayed up so late last night, trying to fit the choreography around their missing piece. 

Hwanwoong frowning hard enough to leave behind lines of tension and worry, barely softening in Youngjo’s embrace. 

Geonhak’s voice chasing Keonhee’s through lines that weren’t second nature yet, desperately trying to stabilize it enough in the darkness of a supply closet that Keonhee stuck them in because it had passable acoustics and no one could hear Geonhak’s voice break. 

Dongju, ducking into the room quietly to bring them drinks and snacks, his bird hollow bones curling around Keonhee’s taller frame for a moment before he disappeared out the door to check on the others.

Through it all, the underlining current of sick worry, at seeing Seoho’s face contort into a grimace in the reflection of a practice room mirror, the low moan of pain that he’d tried to muffle.)

It was a thought that Keonhee processed and tucked away in minutes, his mind detached from his body as they moved into the next verse, Geonhak’s voice both steady and fragile in his ears, and a part of him relaxed in sweet relief, even if the rest of his attention sharpened further as he pushed into the chorus, trying to make his voice bigger, more present, to cover up the absence of Seoho’s harmonies, the way it went empty where he expected a sweet stabilizing echo.

Geonhak’s hand landed gently on his hip, warm through the fabric of his jeans, a diagonal mirror of the one over his collarbone, and Keonhee covered them with his own hands, fingers briefly entwining as they held together in a move that Hwanwoong had suggested, eyes searching their faces as if he expected them to protest.

Then it was over, and Keonhee led them into a bow, feeling shaken and split apart, still detached from the bright smile across his face, from the even, inviting tone of his voice as he spoke to the producer, the staff, the manager. It didn’t sit right on his face, but he knew how it looked, bright and reassuring, through changing and make-up and brushing Hwanwoong’s hair out of his face, through Youngjo’s sharp look of concern.

In the van, the two youngest fell asleep leaning against each other, bodies fitting together like missing puzzle pieces, while Youngjo spoke softly into his phone, Geonhak occasionally interjecting, Seoho’s laughter spilling from the phone’s speaker, laced through with static. 

“I don’t hear Keonhee,” Seoho said, unfamiliar and unreal over the speakers, “is he asleep?”

Keonhee twisted in his seat, tired muscles fitting his body to attention, a smile coming automatically to his face. “I’m here, hyung!” he said, leaning across the aisle to be closer to the phone. His voice was bright and relaxed, but Youngjo gave him a sharp look anyway. Maybe he was being too loud. Keonhee softened his voice, answered a few of Seoho’s questions, joked around until Seoho was laughing.

His bright expression fell away too quickly once Youngjo shut off his phone and he could feel his eyes on him as he turned around to lean his forehead on the window, curling up against someone’s balled-up hoodie. It smelled like Geonhak, like sweat and his woodsy cologne, and Keonhee put his face into it, trying to get his mind to quiet.

It didn’t help, his senses still on high alert, attention flitting between sensations too quickly and focusing too hard on them. He could hear their youngest breathing, the shift of Youngjo’s clothing as he moved in his seat, their manager harmonizing softly to a ballad on the radio. The van shook as they passed through potholes, and his clothes sat strange and itchy on his body, and beyond them, his hip and collarbone were still somehow warm from Geonhak’s touch.

He tried curling up further, hiding his whole face into the hoodie but it didn’t work, and frustration mixed through all other sensations to create a sick feeling in his gut. He must have made some sort of noise because he heard movement from the backseat, and a moment later, Geonhak’s breathing, closer.

“Keonhee,” Geonhak called out softly, voice so low that Keonhee couldn’t have heard it if he weren’t so near. “Are you awake?”

Keonhee didn’t move, pretending to be asleep, and Geonhak’s hand came to briefly brush through the small hairs at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver of sensation down his spine before he moved away.

He curled up on the couch in their living room back at the dorm, flicking through his phone and not doing anything in particular as everyone lined up to shower. They left him alone, seemingly sensing his mood, and he was grateful for it. He felt at once lethargic and keyed up, leftover adrenaline zinging pressing onto his nerves in an almost painful way.

By the time it was his turn in the shower, everyone was already dressed and ready to go out. He waved them off, asking them to bring him something.

“Sure, hyung,” Dongju said, eyes soft and worried. “What should we get?”

“Whatever,” Keonhee shrugged, trying for a smile, feeling it sit lopsided on his face, Dongju’s worry sharpening. “You know what I like.”

Dongju seemed about to say something but Youngjo gently touched his elbow, steering him out the door. He gave Keonhee a meaningful stare, which he didn’t have the energy to decipher, so he didn’t, but the thought of worrying him prickled ugly sharp across his senses.

The bathroom was hot and a little damp when he came in, and Keonhee had to pick his way through the discarded towels to get into the stall. The water that hit his skin was too cold and he hissed before turning the knob. Likely Hwanwoong was in it last, he always ran hotter than the others.

The shampoo bottle was almost empty when he squeezed it into his palm, and he diligently caught some water from the showerhead to slosh it around. The sound grated on his nerves and he was glad to chuck the empty bottle blindly out of the stall. He’d pick it up later. He thought about texting the others to pick up more shampoo at the convenience store, but likely Dongju already knew. He was good about things like that.

He closed his eyes under the spray, hands sliding down his torso, idling for a moment at his crotch. He wondered if he should try to get off now that he had some privacy, before abandoning the idea altogether. He couldn’t focus enough on his usual fantasies, his awareness spread too thin. With a small sigh, Keonhee shut off the water, stepping out.

He entertained the idea of just walking around naked since the dorm was empty and clothes still felt weird and itchy on his body but decided against it. He wasn’t quite as bold yet, honestly. In the end, he kept the towel and redressed in the bedroom, loose sweatpants, and a threadbare T-shirt, the collar soaking through from the water dripping off his hair.

There was a full-length mirror in the bedroom and he stopped in front of it, staring at his reflection. Looking at his own face was strange, with the tension in his limbs, and the adrenaline running through his veins, undercut with a current of nausea and he shut his eyes to do away with the constipated expression on his face, breathing deeply.

“Keonhee,” Geonhak’s voice came from behind him. Keonhee startled, jumping a little and losing his balance. Geonhak’s arms came up to steady him and he stood with his eyes closed for a minute, catching his breath.

“You scared me half to death,” he muttered and Geonhak snorted.

“Sorry,” he said, “I thought you knew I was still here.”

Keonhee shook his head. Geonhak’s hand stayed on his hip, a parody of the movement from the stage earlier, but firmer now, not just a touch, but gripping, not hard enough to bruise, but enough that Keonhee felt it.

“Thought you left with the others,” he said quietly. Geonhak’s presence behind him was unmistakable, a prickle on the edge of his senses, impossible to ignore. “Why didn’t you go?”

“Didn’t feel like it,” Geonhak said and stepped closer, his front flush against Keonhee’s back. “What’s up with you today?”

The hand not on his hip trailed up Keonhee’s flank up to his shoulders, as Geonhak pulled on the loose collar of his shirt to expose the skin of his shoulder. Without conscious thought, Keonhee felt some of the tension drain out of his limbs, leaning back into the touch, letting Geonhak support some of his weight.

“Just tense,” Keonhee murmured. Geonhak pressed his face into his shoulder, rubbing his cheek against it. There was the slightest hint of stubble and it felt nice against Keonhee’s sensitive skin.

“Let me help?” Geonhak said, his mouth soft and a little wet against the back of Keonhee’s neck. Keonhee opened his eyes, taking in the sight of himself, the flush on his cheeks, pupils blown wide, and Geonhak’s big hand on his hip, thumb dipping underneath his shirt to rest against bare skin.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, and Geonhak’s hand slipped under his shirt to press against his stomach.

They ended up in Keonhee’s bunk, Keonhee sprawled across the mattress, the balled-up sheets digging into his back. Geonhak’s lips were wet and slightly chapped against his mouth, kissing him slow, intense. His focus narrowed down to the points of contact between them, awareness slamming into his body when Geonhak pressed him down on the bed with his weight.

After, they curled up around each other, wedged in the small bunk, Keonhee’s head over Geonhak’s heart, fingers trailing through the divots of his abs, smiling when Geonhak’s body shook with laughter.

“Better?” Geonhak asked and Keonhee felt the way it rumbled through his chest.

He took stock of himself for a moment. The strange sick feeling of being pulled in different directions was gone, his body pliant and relaxed, attention focused on the warmth of Geonhak’s skin, the brush of his fingers through Keonhee’s hair.

“Better,” he concluded, pressing a kiss to Geonhak’s torso as thanks.

“Good,” Geonhak said, with that low rumbly tone to his voice that meant he was close to falling asleep. “You know he’ll come back soon, don’t you?”

Keonhee smiled, thinking about Seoho’s voice, sweet and familiar and free of static.

“I know,” he said and Geonhak let out a quiet hum.

A moment later, their front door opened with a bang and the chatter of voices, and Keonhee laughed out loud as Geonhak groaned. He found a shirt to cover up the marks on his collarbone in tone, but it was a close call before Dongju barreled into the room, yelling at them to stop being lazy.

He called Seoho later, tucked away in Youngjo’s room for a small amount of privacy and listened to him hum under his breath as he got ready for bed in his parents’ apartment, mingling with the chatter of their other members from the main bedroom, the sound settling into back his bones, where it belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, leave me a comment and stream A Song Written Easily  
> I'm also on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/leewoong).


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